If on a Winter's Night
by SL727
Summary: An apprentice and her master are assigned to observe a pre-industrial world, where not all is as it seems. Prequel / AU, set before the Clone Wars. OC to begin, with some familiar ones appearing later. Rated T; nothing too drastic. It's been a while since I've done much writing, so any feedback would be appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

1

A charcoal sky.

In the west the deeper shades of twilight were gathering, rising slowly over the gorse-studded heath in its nocturnal embrace. The wind was in the north-east and rising, buffeting the shoreline, the waves low, racing in to crash up the shallow slope of basalt rocks below the pathway in a cascade of foam. There was a tang of salt in the spray-filled air. Behind her a sharp gust lifted the banner above the gateway of the fortress, a standard of dark linen displaying the outline of a bull, and snatched at her pale blonde hair.

The horse was docile enough and clearly knew the way, which was just as well –a life spent mostly on Coruscant and its surrounding planets had not gone far to providing her with equestrian skills, although she liked the animal well enough. The high tide was thundering against the rocks now and night had almost fallen as she ducked her head against the gale. The fortress –the castle, no less– faded, then vanished as she dropped down a slow incline, heading toward the village a mile further along the path. It was a bleak region, especially at this time of day, though not without a wild beauty of its own. There were another two castles further along the coast, granite and wooden gauntlets that crashed into the shorelines and proclaimed the belligerent nature of the population. Which wasn't to count those further inland, or the numerous tower-houses. Not a place to come for a holiday. But of course, she wasn't there for a rest.

It was a strange world. Pre-industrial. A sparsely populated land of gentle hills and rich pastures, of slow rivers and wilder seas, of wind-swept heaths and moorlands, of iron and leather, of wood and stone, of crags that grinned out of fogs, of small settlements and larger towns. With limited natural resources and far from the main hyperspace routes, it was not ready for development. If, she reflected, as a brief surge of sleet spattered her rough green cloak, it ever would be. Some never were and it was a mistake to force things. Perhaps in a millennia. But still she was there. The Jedi rarely interfered with such places, though they would occasionally observe and meet with carefully select groups. Her master, who sat on the Council of First Knowledge, had been ordered to take this particular assignment: a low-key role with minor diplomatic functions. She was mildly cynical about its practical value but the Council were probably more concerned with ensuring she had some experience outside the Core Worlds, which given her master's usual duties had been limited. It made an interesting change.

Pushing through two swinging gates some twenty yards apart, she and the horse arrived at the outskirts of the village, hunched low in a natural harbour in the rock. The houses were mostly of wood with a smattering of stone –rough, though carefully made. A handful had tiled roofs, the rest were of heavy thatch. Despite the wind, the scent of smoke was strong as they made their way along the narrow path, down toward the cottage she and her master were sheltering in. After stabling and rubbing down the horse, she tiredly slipped into the small building, politely nodding to their hostess, an elderly woman of stout appearance who was knitting beside the fireplace.

'The weather's picking up then.' The old woman looked up briefly from her knitting, which appeared to be her way of registering concern for her guest.

'A little. They let me borrow a horse –I stabled it at the back and it's got some bran mash so it seems happy enough. I hope that won't cause any problems.'

'Horses are no trouble as a rule. But stay inside now child. You'll do yourself an injury if you go out again, and where's the sense? Other people are always good for that.'

'It was worth checking Cara.' Her master gave both host and her apprentice an affectionate smile. None of them had held much hope that she would achieve anything by visiting the castle, and it was perfectly clear from her manner that she hadn't. But even a remote possibility had been worth pursuing. Eighteen at her last birthday Cara McInnes was a beautiful girl, a few inches above five feet in height and willow-slender, with delicate features and hazel-green eyes. She had inherited a love of the folk music of her home world, and could sing with a haunting purity that held listeners spellbound. Even her normal speaking voice, with its pronounced but soft brogue enchanted. There was steel beneath the honey though. She was intelligent, her touch with the Force was subtle, she was fitter than her slender figure suggested at first glance, and with a lightsaber she was lethal. One of the Order's handful of Makashi practitioners, her figure and mind were well-suited to the archaic but highly refined style.

'I suppose so Master. From what you've told me the queen won't be happy though.'

'I imagine not –few rulers care for open defiance, and she has other distractions.'

'You mean the talk about the raiders?'

'She can read or be read fairy stories any time she wishes. No, I was thinking of slightly more prosaic matters. She's young after all –only about your age. She lacks experience, her councillors are not all particularly trustworthy, and several are starting to put pressure on her to marry. All oblique of course, just comments, nothing more. Strength and direction. The glories of future prosperity, and alliances between major noble houses. The usual sort of thing.'

Cara sighed and sat on a rough wooden bench beside a matching table. Her master had already met the young queen and her council, and had evidently been giving the matter some thought. Their hostess set aside her knitting, ladled out a cup of heated, honeyed wine and passed it to her. She smiled her thanks –it was warming after the two mile ride beside the shore. 'A Jarl?'

'That would be the most likely option; the Council will probably purchase the hand of someone they feel to be suitable. Some of your folk songs mention similar things I believe? The money will go either to his family or directly to himself for –services rendered.'

'Giving her an heir you mean.'

'Giving the realm one in this case Cara. Although the practical requirements are the same I grant you. I suspect the young lady may have other ideas though. She does appear to have an independent mind.'

'Good for her.'

'Indeed, assuming it doesn't get her killed. You have that in common at least.' There was more humour than rebuke in her master's voice. 'You should sleep Cara, once you've eaten something. We have a reasonable way to go tomorrow, as far as travelling in this weather in concerned. Then you may be able to decide for yourself.'

'I hope the queen will do the same.'

'Perhaps,' her master smiled. 'There will be time enough for that later though.'

The meal was basic, but filling. Cara wondered idly about the place as she drifted off; the people, their beliefs and the climate itself. Such worlds took a little getting used to, after the Galactic capital. Then she pushed the thoughts aside. It wasn't her concern.

* * *

Dawn over the small harbour and the sea had little of the aggression of the previous evening. It was still a wild place, with a grandeur of its own, but the rose blush in the sky, the shimmer of the water and glow of the gorse provided a splash of highlighting colour. The temperature had dropped during the night. Away to the west, perhaps half a dozen miles, where the light touched a range of hills, a hint of purple showed –heather, most likely.

'Midalnburh?' Their hostess had come to the door and was watching as Cara said a brief goodbye to the horse.

'Yes, we'll see what happens from then. Thank you for the hospitality this last month –it can't have been easy for you, with a pair of complete strangers around.'

The woman shook her head. 'Strangers are no more trouble than horses. You won't have too far to go, twenty miles at the most. But it's late in the year. Too late for raiding, yet we hear it's still going on.' She held something out; thin, wrapped in linen. Lifting away the top layer, she revealed a long knife which she drew from its ebony scabbard. The blade was straight, about twelve inches long, with a chisel point. Single-edged for most of its length, the first four inches of the spine were also sharpened. The old woman breathed lightly along the steel and she saw a series of faint, repeating wisps emerge like the faint kiss of a dragon's breath –it was a pattern-welded blade, born of a mixture of soft and hard rods that had been carefully twisted, welded together then hammered into life by a master craftsman. The grip was just as beautiful, the figured, curling walnut inlayed with gold and silver. 'These can be good companions. It belonged to my husband. We had no children.'

Cara stared at her in surprise. She had liked the apparently dour old woman –her manner obviously protected a kind heart– and while she had thought the liking had been mutual, she hadn't expected such generosity. A knife like this was probably worth as much as her cottage. More. Carefully she reached out and took the weapon. It would have been insulting to refuse. And the Order did permit its members to accept gifts or mementos of this kind. 'Thank you. I'll look after it.'

'Perhaps it will help look after you. It needs cleaning every week, but you're a sensible girl –you'll know what to do. And may your god go with you, child. Whichever you might worship.' Abruptly, the old woman turned and went back into her cottage. Cara watched for a moment. She knew it was unlikely that they would meet again. But she wouldn't forget. Giving the horse's nose a final pat, she walked back around to the front where her master was waiting for her.

'Ready?' Her master was already at the top of the lane. She noted the knife that Cara had fastened to her belt and nodded her approval. 'She's a kind woman. And she was fond of you Cara –she hardly looked up from her knitting all the time you were away at the castle. You feel sad to be leaving her?'

'I think she's lonely Master.' She couldn't deny feeling some concern for the old woman. Slowly they began to make their way inland; turning a corner, the low cottage and the rest of the village was lost to sight.

'She was. It's one of our blessings that we get to make such friends though. And she won't be as lonely in the future. That's your doing, so look back and be glad. It's always the simple things that make the greatest difference, like you helping with domestic chores and singing for her in the evening –what a granddaughter might have done. She didn't have anyone to think of in that way before, and for her, that has been a gift beyond measure. Happy memories of someone who cared. I've left her a few pictures of you, and some of your recordings –she'll find them soon enough.'

To the left a path wound along a narrow valley –they would take it for a few hundred yards before branching off, climbing the side and heading toward the small town of Midalnburh, the capital of the small kingdom they were currently in. The twenty miles would take them all day to cover –it was not especially difficult terrain, but nor was it easy since, as the old woman had pointed out, it was late in the year, and that meant something in this place. As they moved inland, into the shallow, sheltered valleys, there were indications of frost and the ground felt hard as iron underfoot.

The sun had passed its zenith by the time they approached the northern extent of their looping journey –the way to the south was blocked by a noisy river, which was quite impossible to ford at this time of the year. Another mile would lead them over a short ridge and up a final sharp incline, before they could turn on a direct route to Midalnburh, which sheltered on a shallow slope some nine miles to the south. There had been little to see, and much. Wildlife seemed modest –birds, mostly, and the occasional flock of woolly mammals that were evidently reared for shearing, and presumably for meat. They seemed timid, though pleasant –Cara thought her master was quite taken with them. They did have an appeal as an unobjectionable and clearly undemanding sort of creature. Smaller animals seemed conspicuous by their absence; presumably those that existed hibernated during the colder months. The scenery though was undeniably beautiful, in its bleak way.

The top of the ridge, and the sharp dip and rise beyond it were heavily wooded. At the bottom, the colours grew darker, partly through the reduced light and partly due to the changed nature of the trees. A little fog had formed; there was water there too –they could hear it, a steady babble as they moved down, their feet soft in the leaf-mould. And there it was –a stream of glittering diamonds at the foot of the hill, spanned by a narrow plank bridge. Cara paused briefly to look down and enjoy the sight of the water, the glassy dance and chatter as it rushed along its rocky bed, the damp of the tendrils of fog against her cheek, the hiss, the faint rush of the wind in this soft place, the wetness of the thud.

She looked up. Her master was lying not a dozen paces away at the edge of the bridge. Her eyes were still open –a rarity, but then, death had come as a complete shock. A narrow black shaft protruded from her throat, perhaps two feet into the air, her mouth was filled with blood. Cara's hand snapped down to the knife the old woman had given her, drawing it free and dropping to a low fighting crouch, the blade held out before her eyes. There was movement even as she did so, a figure coming up fast dressed in leather and iron, grey-skinned, humanoid in form but not in features, and endowed with, from the yellow eyes, an intelligence just less than human. A falchion that looked more like a lengthened butcher's cleaver than any weapon she had seen was already swinging at her head, a two-handed blow that scythed past her shoulder as a flash of silver struck its legs, tripping it sufficiently for the cut to miss its mark. A second figure was standing on the bank, dressed in some kind of camouflage in black and grey that blended into the shadows of this narrow valley. He –he –well, _it_ , since the face was shadowed by the trees, was holding a sword, the sheen of the steel soft in the dappled light.

The creature, which was well over six feet tall, recovered with extraordinary agility for something so large, pulled back from the short thrust she aimed at its wrist and sprang toward the new assailant –the second figure had thrown a knife that had caused the momentary loss of balance. Snapping a leg back, it turned aside, punching the heavy pommel of the sword into the snarling face as the creature's momentum caused it to overextend, then slashed the blade down in a vicious cut to the back of the knee, severing tendons in a spray of blood. The hamstrung creature collapsed, hacking back with its own weapon. The other simply stepped away, then forward, ramming the sword into the back of the skull, shattering thick bone like paper and penetrating deep into the brain. From the first whisper of the arrow to the last had taken perhaps ten seconds. And then there was silence.

The camouflaged figure briefly glanced toward the top of the hill where she knew a small tower-house lurked amongst the trees. Apparently satisfied it wiped the blood from its sword on a piece of rag before sliding it back into its scabbard and moved to join her. From a yard away Cara found herself looking at a young man of about her own age.

'Are you planning to kill me? Even now, it's not easy.' The eyes were purple-grey. Unblinking –almost glacial.

'Who are you?' To her surprise he had spoken in Basic, rather than the local tongue, which she had tried to learn without much success.

'My name's Harald Salkeld. You're the outlanders?' The voice was a contrast to the permafrost eyes and the unnerving speed with which he could move –it sounded tired, or perhaps drained, as though his emotions had been steadily worn down. Somewhere, in the background, there was a richness, even a slightly musical cadence that could –should– have been more pronounced. As a singer she paid attention to such things. She watched him retrieve his knife from the leaf-mould, brush it dry and slide it into a short sheath matching that of the sword. Even close-to his camouflaged pattern clothing was effective, as good as the fractal types that were produced on some supposedly advanced worlds. It looked well-worn. 'My queen was concerned for you –she had word yesterday afternoon from the Warden of the Northern Marches that a group of raiders was coming down. You weren't likely to get much warning out on the coast –assuming they would bother to tell you, and there's reason enough to doubt that.' As he spoke, he moved toward a thick gorse bush that hunched between the overhanging branches toward the light. Hauling a frond aside, he glanced into the dry hollow revealed under the bush, then moved to where her master lay.

She was alone now, but her mind still seemed to be working quickly. 'You serve her?'

'As best I can.'

'That was one of the raiders then? What is it?'

'I've no idea what it is, just that they've started to come over the past few months.'

She looked into his eyes, then sheathed her knife and gazed toward her master's body. She had seen death before, but had thought it would be different for someone she knew. The arrow embedded in the throat somehow made it easier –whoever her master had been, what was lying on the ground was no longer her. The house was empty, the occupant gone. He tilted his head toward the side of the valley. 'We should go. I'm sorry about your friend, but we'll have to leave her here for the moment. We've been still for too long as it is. She'll be safe under the gorse until I can send a party to look after her.'

Risk? Trust? If he was a threat, it wasn't going to be in the immediate future, nor could she see much purpose in it. In any event, he had a point about not staying. She watched as the young man carefully lifted the body of her master, gently laid it in the hollow under the thick bush and pulled the branches back into place. It wasn't the best concealment, but it would serve for a while. And what other option did she have, until she could establish contact with the Council via the next scheduled satellite pass? Wordlessly, she followed the young man up the other side of the hill, heading, she noted, toward Midalnburh.

* * *

He was a quiet companion, though a good part of that was sensible precaution. There was something nearby. She could feel it –a growing sense of menace in the trees, in the ground and in the air. Picking their way up through the woods and out of the valley she noted his movement. It was completely silent; he passed like a spectre. Nearing the top of the climb he turned aside into a shallow dell, where bracken still held a little of the afternoon glow. A pair of heavy horses, saddled and bridled, were quietly cropping the grass. At their approach, both looked up, clearly waiting. They were no racehorses, nor were they of the shaggier general-riding breed, like the one she had borrowed the previous day. These were giants of their kind, around eighteen hands high, the chests, back and shoulders massively broad and deep, the muscles huge slabs of power. They had to weigh nearly a ton apiece, and looked like they could haul a starfreighter around without breaking sweat.

'Can you ride?' Seeing her nod, he beckoned her over to the nearest of the two horses, a bay with a friendly face, and watched as she briefly patted the long neck, then climbed into the saddle. Satisfied that she knew what she was about, he swung himself into the saddle of the other, an even larger grey, and led the way back out of the dell, through the thinning trees and immediately passing behind a bank, along a sunken pathway. For all their size and weight, the horses, like him, were astonishingly quiet, the only sound being an occasional click of stone, and the rustle of grass and ferns that brushed against their legs.

Neither spoke again for some time. He clearly knew the area well and was picking out paths that sheltered them from wider view, especially of the hills and rising moorland to their right. The clouds had started to build, the golden light of the morning had faded, and the beauty of the land had reverted to its grimmer nature. Cara kept one eye on him as they wound along the paths. It had been the first time she had seen the results of the ancient way of fighting. It was one thing to face a blaster, or even a lightsaber. Here it was different. The galaxy, let alone the Republic, effectively didn't exist. Wars were fought, alliances made. Weapons were born in glowing furnaces and carved from living trees –those who died would do so under a sharpened piece of metal. The savagery was something you couldn't fully prepare for; knowing what happened and seeing it were rather different things. She wished she had not been forced to leave her lightsaber behind on their transport.

Quite what would happen when they reached Midalnburh she didn't know; there had been no instructions and things had changed dramatically, not just through the loss of her master, but because they had already been at the limit of their role as, primarily, observers and disinterested negotiators. As for her new companion, it was hard to say. He had finished the creature off well –she didn't think she would have had many problems with it herself, but perhaps shock might have slowed her a touch, and she wasn't used to fighting with such weapons. Clearly he was. But then, he would. Theirs was a militarist society, and those near the head of the social order would be trained from infancy.

She studied the sword slung at his waist. It was a single-handed type, the blade relatively flat, double-edged and with a slight taper. Clearly a weapon optimised for cutting, although able to stab effectively when necessary. The pommel was a chamfered octagon, the short crosspiece flared and fractionally curved. Both were obviously made of the same steel as the blade, polished to a sheen, but otherwise plain. The only hint of decoration were the grips, which appeared to be fashioned from bleached ivory. It was an austere weapon, but a beautiful one. Reaching out through the force there was –nothing. And everything. She had once stood on a small moon at the Lagrange point between two gas giants. There was a similar feeling around him. He was, or could be, extremely powerful. Rather like the land itself. He seemed lost in thought, though that didn't stop him from constantly watching their surroundings as they rode steadily onward. After the first ten miles it changed subtly, the wildest edge receding slightly, just as the brooding threat had been left behind, at least for the moment.

Crossing a narrow bridge, only just wide enough for their horses to pass, they skirted a wood, thinner than the last, and lighter, then began a slow ascent. There, its evening lights glimmering in the distance, sheltered Midalnburh, in the lee of a larger hill. Her master had come here several weeks before –it was wealthier, as benefited a capital, and generally calmer. Protected though, with a high palisade and defensive ditches. The wall was masonry; the Royal fortress lay within the town. All the buildings were of better-dressed stone than she had seen elsewhere. The old woman hadn't cared for Midalnburh, but that had been a matter of taste and inclination rather than animosity –Cara had spoken with her several times about the towns and villages, glad to gain a local perspective.

They seemed to be taken for granted as they approached Midalnburh itself. Its gates were open and it seemed to be, on the whole, a perfectly pleasant, bustling walled market town. Other than a handful of younger men who stared in her direction, and a whistle which she ignored, nobody paid them much note. The castle itself was a huge structure –substantially bigger than the one she had visited the previous day. Close-to, the outer curtain-wall was of finely dressed sandstone, which to one side actually formed part of the main town wall. What she could see of the inner buildings; the keep, halls and other structures, appeared to be made of the same. The main gate was, like those of the town, open, though guarded. Neither of the two mail-clad watchmen made any move to stop them as they rode through the entrance, into a small courtyard. He jumped lightly to the ground, handing his reins to a groom. She slid carefully out of her own saddle and followed suit.

After the horses were led away, he gestured her to follow him through two narrow doorways. She found herself in a modest-sized chamber that appeared to be some form of office, or at least the nearest equivalent. Her companion exchanged a few words with the sole occupant –a middle-aged steward of the type who would never be phased– then turned to her. 'We'll be wanted later this evening. In the meantime I'll show you to your rooms. I'll arrange for your friend to be brought back –if there are any particular rites, or if you wish her to be transported elsewhere, then we will gladly help with that. Just let one of the stewards know in the morning.'

'Master. She was my master.' Strange, how a little grief suddenly now crept in.

He steered her through another door and down a passageway. 'And a friend too, obviously. You were her apprentice then?'

'Something like that. It doesn't seem strange to you?' The passage ended in a courtyard planted with herbs set in gravel beds, mingling with the heather that surrounded a central sundial. Moving along the cloister, they ascended a flight of stairs and turned again, along an upper walkway.

He shook his head at her question. 'Not especially. We have a queen; I imagine that's as difficult a job as any. I have more than my share of faults, but I hope underestimating women isn't one of them.' Opening a door at the end of the passage he gestured her into a large room lit from a silver hanging-lamp. Here the sandstone was softened by tapestry and linen draperies. The furnishings were of a pale, fine-grained wood, scraped, polished and waxed smooth. A large four-poster bed was the main feature, though there were several chests, a comfortable chair and a dressing table complete with large electrum mirror. A pretty girl who looked to be around seventeen, slim, with deep russet hair stepped through a doorway in the far wall and stood quietly with eyes lowered. He nodded to her. 'What's your name?'

'Brigid, my lord.'

'I'm not a lord, Brigid. But would you be kind enough to look after our guest? She doesn't know the castle. She'll be wanted in about two hours, and then dinner afterward.'

'Of course my lor–' she broke off with a blush.

'Thank you. I hope to see you later Miss McInnes.' He stepped back into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him. It was only after the girl politely came to her side and bolted the door that she realised she hadn't told him her name. Brigid seemed to know what she was thinking though.

'Jarl Salkeld is a little different my lady. I mean no disrespect,' she added hastily.

'He's a Jarl?'

'Oh yes my lady. His father was Jarl Sigwulf of Lindanburh –that's to the north, just off the coast. I was there once, when I was young. You have to take a causeway at low tide to reach it. He inherited the title.' Her fingers lightly unfastened the brooch that pinned Cara's cloak before she could think to stop her. 'I'm sorry –I shouldn't speak out of turn.'

'Brigid –you can say anything you like. And you don't have to do anything, I don't have servants.'

The girl folded the cloak neatly over her arm. 'Thank you my lady. But –I'd like to, if you'll let me? I'll leave though if that is what you wish.'

Cara looked at her for a moment. Her head felt like it was about to burst like shrapnel. 'That would get you in trouble?'

'A little, my lady.'

'Then please stay. I don't want you to have any problems on my account.' She sat on the edge of the chair and closed her eyes.

'Are you hurt my lady?' Whatever else Brigid was, she was a kind girl; her concern was perfectly genuine.

'Just tired Brigid. My master –my friend died a few hours ago. She was the closest thing to a mother I've ever known. And I still have a job to do.'

'I'm sorry for your loss my lady. Your job though –I won't ask what it is, it's not my place. But is it something you can be doing now, or can you rest for a time?'

At least that decision came easily. 'I can rest.'

'I'm glad. Would you like me to prepare you a bath?'

She opened her eyes to look at her. 'Thank you Brigid. And my name's Cara.' The girl vanished through the doorway and she closed her eyes again, focusing on driving some of the pain away. It worked, after a fashion. It would be some time the following afternoon before she could make contact with the Order. Until then? She would have to improvise.

A few minutes later, Brigid returned. 'The water's hot my lady, if you'd like to come through.' She led her into a small chamber with a high-vaulted roof and tiled walls with soft green and lilac patterns. In the centre, a large square plunge-bath was sunk into the floor. Petals were scattered over the surface of the steaming water, filling the room with a delicate scent. 'May I help with your clothes?'

'Help? Oh, I see. No. No thank you Brigid, I can manage.' She gave her a smile though to indicate that she wasn't trying to be offensive. After undressing, she stepped carefully down into the bath and leaned tiredly against the side, enjoying the warmth penetrating her limbs. Brigid waited until she was settled, placed the discarded clothes in a wicker basket, then carried a tall, slender copper jug and a small bag to the side of the bath. Pouring a little water from the jug into her hands, she lathered them with scented soap from the bag, and gently began to rub it into Cara's scalp and hair. She didn't protest –the girl was only doing her job and appeared to be happy enough. She also wanted Brigid to stay, partly so she could learn a little more, and also for the company. While she was talking, she could at least delay thinking too much about her master's death.

'You're very pretty my lady.'

'Thank you, Brigid. I wish I felt it.'

'If you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't worry about that my lady. You should be more concerned about how many will be competing for your favour. Except –I think they might do better to be afraid of you.' With Cara's hair thoroughly coated with the soft soap, the girl began to gently massage her shoulders. 'Of Jarl Salkeld too of course,' she added thoughtfully.

'Yes?'

Brigid picked up on the enquiry in her tone. 'He's –different my lady, as I say. He was brought up mostly here, but these past two years, he's been away more than he's been in Midalnburh. He's nice to servants. And he doesn't use his title. He says they're earned, not inherited. That doesn't make him popular.' Brigid fell silent as she continued the gentle massage, working slowly up Cara's neck and across her scalp. Perhaps she had also seen her crying. She would certainly have felt her shoulders trembling. So much for Jedi serenity. But then, the death of a decent person deserved tears. Especially if they had been close. It worked; the tension slowly melted away. 'You said you don't have servants my lady?' Brigid lifted the jug and began to rinse Cara's hair with heated water.

'No. I'm part of an –order. We're servants ourselves, in our way. That's why I said you don't have to do anything. We're not important. We just do our best to help when we can.'

'You're still our guest my lady. We respect that. Especially if you've lost someone you cared for in our land, and we weren't able to help.' A soft rap on the door in the other room interrupted their quiet. 'Forgive me –that will be one of the wardrobe assistants.' The girl slipped away. Cara relaxed for a few moments, listening to the muffled conversation in the neighbouring room. A door closed and Brigid stepped back in. 'There's about an hour; the Council business is running late, as usual.' She picked up a large, soft towel and unfolded it. Cara took the hint, climbed out of the sunken tub and Brigid began to gently pat her dry, wrapping the cloth around her as she did so. 'I've selected a gown for you –I hope you'll like it. The colour should go well with your eyes.' After wrapping another towel around Cara's hair, Brigid led her back into the bedroom. Her taste in dresses was certainly good –the soft green silk-velvet, embroidered with copper, was as beautiful as anything that could be bought in an up-market boutique on Coruscant. She was relieved to note the modest neckline, although the cut was elegant. The girl lifted it gently off the hanger and helped her with the fastenings, before sitting her down at the dresser, and freeing her hair from the towel. 'Forgive me my lady -I haven't sent out for any jewellery. Normally our guests would like some, but I don't think you need it.'

'I'll take that as a compliment.' She half-smiled. For all her polite manner, Brigid clearly guided guests in the direction she thought best. Which was probably a good thing. 'Will you be here later?' The way she was feeling, a friendly face would be a blessing. And she could trust Brigid. There was a warmth to her that was not, and couldn't be, faked.

'Of course my lady.'

'Good.' She looked at the girl's reflection in the mirror. 'Is there anything I should know? About this evening?'

Brigid gently began to brush her hair, allowing it to hang straight as she worked the remaining moisture out. 'Not really my lady. I imagine it will be fairly quiet, out of respect for your friend. The queen is –kind. Usually. She has to be ruthless sometimes, but she's just. She'll welcome you formally; I doubt she would do more today.'

'But?' Cara held Brigid's reflected gaze for a moment.

The girl had finished brushing Cara's hair, letting it fall soft and sleek to just below her shoulders. 'It's as I said. You're very pretty my lady.'

'I suppose I should be flattered. But I'm not here to rival anybody, least of all her.'

'The queen knows that. So do I –but we can't always help what we feel.'

'No. Thank you, Brigid.' She squeezed the girl's hand to confirm that she appreciated her kindness. And a soft rap on the door signalled it was time.


	2. Chapter 2

2

It could have been worse.

The queen had been polite. Even friendly, on the surface at least. Her regret had been sincere, as had her formal offer of assistance with the funeral rites, which Cara accepted. There was a small needle though –she was evidently a little put out at having an attractive girl of similar age in the court. She was certainly beautiful, the sheet of silver-blonde hair that cascaded to the small of her back contrasted vividly with her amethyst eyes, while her figure was alluring.

The meal had been reasonably simple and the mood calm enough. She had been able to assess the dozen or so who had attended. Nine or ten seemed sound, while she put a question mark on two, who evidently had too much fondness for power. Possibly three? She had not been able to get much of a read on one. Jarl Salkeld had not been present, and she had not asked. There had been a light touch of foils between the queen and herself on that subject before they had sat down. It had not been territorial –probably. There was something there though. Some kind of relationship, but exactly what was harder to say. Familial? Lovers?

'You survived then my lady?' Brigid had bolted the door, as she had done a few hours earlier, and sat her at the dressing table.

She smiled tiredly. 'More or less.' The light was soft; a single candle only, which had a faint scent of lavender. The girl had set out a toothbrush and water for her to use, and while she did, busied herself in turning the bed down. She was glad to see the knife the old woman had given her on a low table. There was some comfort in the memories, and also having a quality weapon close to hand.

'Your friend left the castle again straight after bringing you here.'

Cara turned in the chair to look at Brigid. 'He wasn't invited.'

'No. He isn't part of the Council. They know he's loyal to the queen –but that isn't always convenient for some of them. And they're afraid of him too.'

'I noticed. Does he have much influence?'

'He and the queen were close as children. I think he knows her a little too well, for her comfort and the council's.'

Which made sense. 'They both have purple eyes –are they related, or is that common here?'

'Not very. They're second or third cousins I believe.' Which would mean second. Brigid, she had already decided, didn't make many mistakes. There had been a hint too that the relationship had perhaps been a little more than simple friendship. She closed her eyes. All in all, she was about finished. Standing, she allowed the girl to loosen the clasps of the dress. 'Nobody will disturb you my lady –I've given instructions that you should be left to rest.'

'The best servants always run things. And so you should.'

'Personal maids do, sometimes.' Brigid smiled, helped Cara undress, then gently blew out the candle, which sat in a small recess in the wall beside the bed, plunging the room into almost-darkness. 'I have a small chamber beside this my lady. I've made sure the main door, and the one to the servant's corridor are both fast. If you need me, you only have to call.'

Thank you.' She slipped gratefully into the bed, watching the shadowy figure hanging the dress on a hook near the dresser. 'Good night Brigid.' On an impulse she held out an arm, and when the girl moved over briefly squeezed her fingers by way of thanks. It was rare for Cara to make friends with people her own age –she knew she was respected, and to an extent admired by some of her fellow Padawans, but there were few that she was close to. Brigid was different. For a moment, she reached out through the force –there was nothing. The small suite was at the end of the cloister, and other than Brigid there was nobody close, nor any feeling of threat. Still. She picked up the knife, sliding it under the sheets, her right hand resting lightly on the grip. It worked, after a fashion –she felt more comfortable. Sleep was harder to find. Over and over, for an hour or more she ran through the descent into the narrow valley, her pause on the bridge, the slight ruffle of wind; the deep hum of the bowstring. The blood filling her master's mouth. And the yellow eyes; the rough grey of the falchion. The gleam of saliva across the exposed canine teeth and dark, snarling lips.

She gave up and lit the candle again from the small tinder box that sat beside it. The room was empty of course, as she already knew, but light was company of a kind. It helped change the perspective of her memories. There was nothing she could have done. Sitting back against the pillows, she watched the shadows dancing on the furthest wall. The patterns, the life of the candle and faint aroma of the scented wax had a soothing effect.

Outside, the temperature had dropped –there would be a thick frost. She could feel it, the ice forming on the grass like a crisp fur, the faintest crackle and hiss of a vixen returning through a shrubbery to its den, the glimmer on the tree-branches like the flicker of diamonds –and the carpet of stars high above: a hundred-thousand points of white in the hard-frozen sky. A tiny fraction of the four hundred billion that made up the galaxy. And one, too far away to see, the centre of the Coruscant system. Her home, such as it was. She pulled the blankets further up, hugging the covers and her knees.

'Are you all right my lady?' Brigid was standing in the doorway. She had felt her move of course; she had been asleep, but with the perception of the best servants, she had somehow known her guest was awake, and roused herself.

'Just thinking, Brigid. I'm sorry I woke you; you didn't have to come through.'

'I wanted to look in.' The girl gazed at her for a moment, then vanished back through the doorway, returning with a silver flask. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she poured a little of the colourless fluid into a matching cup, which she passed to Cara. It was cool, but somehow golden, like the flowers touched by a spring dawn. 'I thought you might need something, so I asked the herbalists for one of their draughts. They said it would balance the humors and help a calm sleep. I don't know whether that's really true –they say a lot of things, and all their draughts seem to be based on elderflower wine. I can't remember the last time I got anything from them that wasn't.'

Cara smiled tiredly and closed her eyes. The image of a sword ripping through tendons made her open them again. 'You mean elderflower gin, don't you?'

'It's a little strong. But yesterday was a bad time for you.'

'I'm not supposed to think like that.' Her voice sounded spent, even to her.

'Forgive me my lady, I'm just a servant. But I don't see any shame in you missing someone you were close to.'

'Nor do I. But it's not about shame. It's just emotions. They're dangerous.'

'All of them? I can see why acting on some of them could be. But isn't that just life?'

'Sometimes. My Order –we're supposed to let go of all those things. Attachment. Anger. Love. All of them.'

Brigid, watched her for a moment, then shrugged. 'That sounds a sad way to live.'

'We're servants.'

'So am I. But I still think life is a gift, and we should enjoy it. It's not always easy, but nobody ever said it was. We just do what we can. If what you say is true –why would you serve? What purpose would there be?'

Cara stared at the blankets, tight across her knees, trying to decide what to say. The truth was –difficult. 'We're supposed to. Give ourselves over. That's the ideal. Very few can reach that. So yes, we feel. I feel. We all do. It's not all that different from what you said though –it's what we do with them, or not do with them, that counts. It's self-discipline, mostly.' Not that she had been doing especially well for the past few hours on that front. And what would they have thought of her now, back in the Temple? One of the most promising apprentices for years? She knew that was her reputation, that she was highly thought of. If this was her great test, she was failing.

The girl digested her words for a few moments. 'My lady?' Cara wordlessly murmured an indication that she should carry on, while trying to force her mind into some semblance of order. 'Your own home –your own land? What's it like?'

'That might take all night. And a lot more, if you really wanted to know.' Brigid brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and looked inquiringly at her. Cara finished the drink, passed the cup back, and waited for Brigid to curl up on the bed, leaning against her knees. 'It's –different. And the same. You know my home is a long way from here?'

Brigid nodded, the barest tilt of her chin. 'I know. You're from somewhere else. Somewhere we can't get to ourselves.'

'If I said you were right, would that bother you?'

'No. I don't understand, but I'd like to hear a little.'

'All right.' She thought for a few seconds about how best to explain. Somewhere, something in the back of her mind flickered briefly, but sleep was finally starting to draw at her. Still, she owed her new friend something. 'There are many lands, Brigid. And many peoples. Some are the same as us –and we are the same, the two of us. I don't have green blood, or anything like that. I'm just a girl. Others do look different. Very different. But that doesn't matter; most have similar ideas and wishes. It's only our technologies that separate us –ours is more advanced, but only because we had a head-start. I grew up on one of those lands. The Order I belong to are a type of –guardian I suppose. We're brought there as infants; we're trained as we grow up, in classes at first, then with a master of our own. That's changed over the years, but it's what happens now. We're not special –well, we are in a way, but we don't think of ourselves as superior. That isn't what it's about. We can feel the Force. Silly name really. It's like energy, in everything, around everything. Not everyone can. Some feel it more than others. Some places are stronger in it than others too.'

'Like ours?'

'Yes. That's why my order takes an interest. We try not to interfere, but we do watch, because we want to learn, and help if we can.'

Brigid sat still for perhaps a minute, digesting her words. 'Do we feel it?'

'Some. Most don't, and they're probably better off. It's wonderful, but it can be dangerous. Have you ever stood outside, before a thunderstorm arrives, and felt the charge in the air –like when you rub a piece of silk, and it moves hair, or gives you a little shock, like a needle?' The ideas weren't quite exact, but they would serve.

'Sometimes. And some of the massage techniques we're taught are a little like that –we don't always touch the skin, but we can feel it.'

'I know. You're good at that. Oh yes, you're one, Brigid. Your queen is too. And Jarl Salkeld of course.'

The girl shivered suddenly. 'I know. About him. And I'm not surprised about the queen. Are you sure about me though my lady? I'm not one from one of the noble families.'

'That doesn't make any difference. And I don't have to be sure. It just is.'

'And the Jarl?'

'What can you tell me about him?' She heard her voice, but it seemed distant, the accent more pronounced, as it usually became when she was tired. Her mind was calming too –if she slept, she would be mostly recovered by the morning.

'I don't know. Yes I do –in a way. He doesn't hold much land. Some. He has a small estate the Queen granted him. And Lindanburh, as I said before. His father was Jarl of that land before him, and his before that. They don't amount to much, but he loves them. He can't command armies of course –he's too young, he doesn't have enough holdings, can't raise enough men. He doesn't try to either. But he's frightening. When he fights. I haven't seen that, but I've heard of it. His sword is strange.'

'It didn't look unusual to me –apart from those ivory grips, it seemed quite plain.'

'That's why it's strange. One of the reasons. Other swords are supposed to break against it.' Brigid was staring at the candle flame as it flickered in its alcove. 'There are stories about it –that it was forged by the ghost of an ancient smith in the dead of winter. That there's some kind of magic in the blade. Just stories. Just stories.' Her voice tailed away.

A suspicion was dawning in Cara's mind, but it and her limbs were now feeling as though they were moving through treacle. Brigid saw the heaviness in her eyelids, smiled gravely, rose and carefully snuffed the candle. 'Sleep well my lady.' Her voice was the barest whisper. Then she was gone, and Cara sank gratefully into the rising, velvet tide of oblivion.

* * *

The room was still in darkness when she woke. Her head ached slightly from the barbiturate Brigid had obviously added to her drink, but otherwise she felt far better. Enough, at least, to reckon the time as slightly before dawn. She was composed once again, her mind calmed by the few hours rest. What then had wakened her? There was nothing in the room; everything was the same. But it had been something –and her hand had again instinctively grasped the haft of the knife. Cara listened to her instincts; they had served her well, saved her life once, in the office of a charming executive whose legitimate business disguised an uglier traffic in human organs –none from willing donors. What then? A sight? A scent? A noise? A feeling? She lay still, waiting.

A flicker of silent movement. Brigid. The girl was standing beside her; through the darkness she looked like a wraith. Cara raised a warning hand, then slipped it around her waist. The other hand pulled the knife free. Neither spoke, Brigid had suppressed her breathing just as Cara had. For perhaps five minutes they remained motionless, the only movement a caress of Cara's fingers when she felt the other girl tense, letting her know to remain still. Nothing. But –more than nothing. There was something, and she could recognise it: the ghostly outline of the menace she had felt the previous afternoon. She glanced at Brigid, her outline now more visible in the pre-dawn. Their eyes locked –confirmation, of a kind.

Cara silently pushed the blankets aside, rose and just as quietly walked across the room. The gown she had worn the previous evening was there –so was a simpler white dress, with matching linen scarf –attractive enough, though not pretentious. It would fall a few inches below her knees and be easy to move in. She took a quick glance at herself in the mirror as she fastened the row of buttons –her eyes were calm. Her master was gone now, and she had had her few moments of grief. That was as it should be, and there was no shame. Brigid had been quite right about that. The death of a friend deserved tears, and she had saved them for a moment when they did not cause any distraction. Now she would honour her master the best way she knew how –by being herself. She had been taught well. And they would meet again. She would see the old woman again too. But not today.

In the mirror, she saw Brigid watching her with a similar calm. With a slight nod she indicated the other girl should get dressed. Her friend vanished just as silently as she had arrived, leaving Cara alone with her thoughts. The feeling was slightly more pronounced, like the lightest touch of icy fingers on her skin. She pulled on a pair of lightweight, flat-soled shoes and glanced at the door, willing Brigid to hurry. She needn't have worried; the girl appeared almost immediately, wearing rough cotton trousers, shirt and cloak. She had also twisted her hair back into a simple pony tail. Cara nodded approvingly; thought for a moment. A light stab of ice between her shoulder blades made her decide. 'The servant's corridor?' She kept her voice the lightest of whispers.

The other girl tilted her head, turned and quickly led Cara through the washroom and into a small bedroom that was clearly her own. She glanced around for the briefest moment, then looked into Cara's eyes. Seeing confirmation that this would be a goodbye, either of her new friend, or of her previous life, she stepped forward, kissed Cara's cheek, turned and silently slid back the handle on a narrow door, releasing the heavy bolts. Carefully opening it a crack and glancing through, she eased it open and slipped through into a corridor beyond.

It was dark. A little of the grey pre-dawn filtered through a handful of slit windows; on the wall opposite each was a torch, now burned out, held in simple wooden brackets. Brigid led the way swiftly along the corridor, down a short flight of steps, then paused before another ironwood door. Her fingers reached toward the sliding handle, then stopped, her fingers frozen an inch away from the metal. Cara felt the same jolt in the force, dispassionately questioned it, and swung back against the stone wall. A slight flick of her hand, and the iron frames that held the bolts silently squeezed together, the metal of bolt and frame biting, locking the door permanently shut. Brigid hadn't moved, her own fingers still suspended in place. The softest of scratches, as of a nail along wood, filtered through the door. Then silence.

Neither girl moved. Cara could feel it –a shadow, slowly filling the room beyond. She forced her breathing to be as slow and shallow as possible. Brigid seemed frozen, unwilling to lower her hand.

The shadow grew. A slow billow, like a cloud, pressing against the other side of the wall; the door. Still she didn't move. Her gaze, fixed upon Brigid's, urged her friend to remain still. Her mind stealthily began to close the connections to the force –hers, and Brigid's. The corridor was empty, the door disused. The pressure on the other side surged –a velvet covered hammer. She closed still more. Hardly breathing now.

The shriek that erupted from the room on the opposite side of the door sounded like all the lost daemons in hell. Not loud, but all the more menacing. Dry, with a glassy edge. A crash followed, the rending of wood, and the thin, crisp patter of feet or –paws? Then silence.

'Brigid?' Cara kept her voice to whisper-level. It broke the spell. Her friend seemed to lift up, out of a dream, and signalled that they should go back along the corridor. Half-way up the steps she grasped a large iron staple driven into the wall, and forced open a low door that was hidden in the shadow of an alcove. Ducking through, she helped Cara in her less-practical dress out onto a narrow walkway that ran along the rear of the cloister. Somehow, after a few yards, they found themselves running. A wooden spiral staircase, in the lee of a large conifer, led down to the rear of a large kitchen-garden. Darting along the narrow, gravel paths, Cara saw their objective –a postern door that clearly led out onto the landscaped grounds outside the castle walls. She did not look back. Something was tracking them; had been since they had entered the garden. The soft rattle of the gravel and thump of the weight behind it was coming up fast; faster.

The door was there, and Brigid was through. She snapped herself sideways, barely slipping through the gap. The door slammed and she heard the heavy impact against the inner face, a black leg briefly slashing through the gap forced open, and the girl struggling with all her weight to force it shut. She risked a force push –too much would be unhealthy on this world– which helped. The heavy door closed and the spring-loaded catch locked it in place. Another quick burst of energy crushed the mechanism in place, as before, and they were free. A long, slow scrape dragged across the opposite wooden face –and the soft crunch of gravel, sporadic, then regular, fading. She let out a breath. She hadn't realised she had been holding it. And to the east, a flush of red heralded the new dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

_Only a short update I'm afraid -writing time has been limited this week. Longer update to come though. And all feedback is appreciated!_

3

They had reached the river Midaln, after which the town had been named, after only a few short minutes. There was little cover, so they had covered the frozen ground as quickly as possible, eager to get back into the shadows of the trees that ran down to the river. The brooding sense of threat had faded, for the time being. There they had paused. The river meandered its way on a direction slightly south of east, down to the coast. Crossing it would be straightforward –there were several bridges. And the terrain to the south would be easier. The choice was obvious and her decision more-or-less automatic. Turning right, away from the bridges and the paths to the south, Cara headed north-west, toward the moorland. There would be shelter enough, amongst the tall gorse and bracken, while the land was undulating; broken. It was a far harder path than the alternative, but it would serve.

Neither girl spoke, though Cara was glad of Brigid's company, just as the girl seemed content with hers. A good companion. By the time the sun was properly up they had covered some six miles and were well out of sight of Midalnburh, beyond the hills that sheltered it, and climbing up the larger range, into the moors. Her dress wasn't ideal, nor was her footwear, but she quite liked both anyway –although lacking sturdiness, they didn't restrict her freedom of movement, and had been a positive asset when they had walked through the shallows of the Midaln for a few hundred yards. An old ruse to throw off the scent trail, and not ideal, but it would slow any further pursuit a little. They had been careful not to leave any marks when climbing out, selecting a stony bank for the purpose, then picked up another of the sunken pathways that seemed a feature of the region. The frost had remained, and the temperature had climbed only slightly since she had woken. She was cold, but otherwise back on balance.

After another mile, over the crest of the first hill, they dropped down a little way, before reaching a flat half-mile. It was greener –evidently used for grazing flocks of the inoffensive woolly animals she had seen the day before. They covered the ground quickly, looped around a low rise, and finally stopped. It was a good spot; the gorse grew thick and there was a gash in the side of the hillock that could provide some extra shelter. Cara glanced at the sun –almost noon. Their route had been indirect, and the direction they had headed in was not the obvious one either. She had neither seen nor felt any hint of danger since leaving Midalnburh. She had an idea that any pursuit of the kind they had experienced in the castle would only come at night. Until then, all that remained was to signal for evacuation, and put as much distance as possible between them and the unknown menace that had risen during the small-hours.

Sixty minutes before she could attempt any satellite contact. They could continue, or rest. On the whole they weren't guaranteed to find a better spot, so rest it had to be. Touching Brigid's arm, she forced her way between and under the gorse, finally dropping to the dry, powdery ground below the overhanging rock and peat. Once Brigid had squeezed into the narrow space beside her, she reached out and managed to pull several branches of the gorse toward them, blocking them from any sight. A person could be within ten feet and not know they were there. She sighed, twisted her spine a little to avoid a protruding rock and lay down beside her friend, trying to conserve as much warmth as possible.

'My lady?' It had been perhaps forty minutes before either spoke. There was nothing except a handful of the woolly animals in the area, but still Brigid kept her voice low. A little sensible precaution was no bad thing.

'I'm just Cara, Brigid.'

'What do you think it was?'

'I don't know. Were you frightened?'

'Yes.'

'You'd be a fool if you weren't.' Cara indicated the bag that Brigid had been carrying. 'You brought the things from my robes?'

'And some water. I thought we might need some. What are you planning my lady?'

'I need to contact my people. They'll make a decision when I report to them –I need to do that in a few minutes. Afterward, we'll keep going a few more miles. Is there any shelter further on?'

Brigid thought for a few moments. 'Not directly ahead. Although this pass is probably the best way to cover the moor. We should get to the other side and head down into the vale in about three miles. We could branch to the right when we get to the floor. Another two miles would take us to Jarl Salkeld's estate –the one the queen granted him.'

'You're sure he can be trusted?'

'Are you, Cara?'

She smiled, lightly touched Brigid's arm in acknowledgement, and closed her eyes. This land breathed. And it was old. She shivered. Ten minutes. Just ten. She murmured a lullaby to herself, as she sometimes did to relax, thinking about the unchanging seconds that ticked by. Five minutes. Six. Finally she stirred, sat up and carefully moved one of the gorse branches an inch to look out. There was nothing, other than the frozen moor. Ice-fog was forming in the lower-lying land a few miles ahead, and the clouds above were rolling in from the north –leaden and full of snow. Far in the distance, beyond the fog and ascending into the clouds stretched a long range of hills; near-mountains really, dark green, with hints of purple. For a moment she could see them –the ghosts of the ages. Grim men in iron mail hammering through this border land to plunder, steal, ravage and kill. The tower houses, castles and fortified towns that had grown in response; the sunken lanes and dry stone walls. The enormous skies, the moorlands, hills, and frigid sea. The sparse, though hardy gorse and heathers, ferns and bracken, firs and older groves of oaks, ash and yew. Then she blinked, and the images were gone; all but the view.

Glancing back to Brigid, she decided to answer her question. 'Yes.' It was enough for now. Moving the branch back into place, she sat once again and checked the time. Close enough. Extracting the com-link from the bag, she quickly tapped in the twelve-digit code and placed the warm metal on the ground in front of her. Almost immediately a green light flashed, indicating a lock on the satellite orbiting several hundred miles above. Pressing the contact button, an automated query was relayed through the satellite back to the Temple on Coruscant. Long-distance communications, especially real-time, were always hit-and-miss through the hyperspace networks, but some care had been put into ensuring decent relay strength. An orange light flickered several times, then glowed on. A small, dark blue hologram floated above the projector. The High Council Chamber. It was largely empty, except for the three figures she had most hoped to see.

'Cara.' Mace Windu's impassive face was always a comfort to her. He intimidated many, but she had always got on reasonably well with him. She wasn't afraid to stand up for herself, and he respected that. Impassive though? Usually. And the hologram was blurred. But there was –something.

'Where is your master?' Shaak Ti's soft tone severed her second of speculation, bringing her back to the present with a jolt.

'She's gone.' Avoiding further ruminations, she outlined the events of the last twenty four hours, keeping her statement short and as to the point as she could make it. The three projections listened in silence. Watched her carefully.

'You are heading to this Jarl's estate now?' The tiny hologramatic pinpricks that were Shaak Ti's eyes had never left hers during the few minutes she had spoken.

'Yes Master. I believe he's a friend. He had left the capital –Midalnburh– last night. I think it was to collect my master's body. He didn't return, as far as I know. He won't have gone to his other estate –there's unrest in the coastal forts between Midalnburh and his island.'

'I see. You would trust him then, this Jarl. Since he intervened yesterday that would seem a sensible conclusion. He would hardly have done so were other purposes in mind.'

'That was my thought Master.'

'Very well.' The miniature projection of Master Windu leaned forward in his chair, his fingers steepled. 'We will dispatch a transport for your immediate evacuation. Any further decisions can be deferred until you return to Coruscant.'

'Master –there is something going on here. I don't know if it's a _coup d'état_ or something else, but it's not right. That raider yesterday –and whatever it was this morning. I don't think they can be indigenous.'

'So sure are you?' Master Yoda had listened in silence since the hologram first appeared, his eyes closed. Now the dragon look, so rarely seen, had come upon him, the ears flattening slightly, the eyes glowing orbs.

She looked carefully at the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. She loved Yoda. All did. And respected him. Feared also, in a way. As she had said, Jedi were not immune from feelings –recognizing them and not allowing them to govern decisions: that was the discipline. A chill finger caressed her spine. 'Jarl Salkeld said he didn't recognize it, whatever it was.'

'And he probably spoke the truth. But there is more to that planet than you are aware of, Cara.' Mace Windu had leaned forward in his padded chair, fixing her gaze. 'It has been twenty years since anyone from the Order visited. She vanished. And those who went before did not return.'

Again, that icy finger. 'Master?'

'It was a mistake to send you both Cara. Part of the file was sealed, and when the systems were updated some years ago, that part of the archive was overlooked.' Shaak Ti looked at a small reader, scanning the page for –something. 'That planet is old Cara. Older than you know. It's a wanderer. I had some of its movements traced back, once the information was recompiled. Sometimes with a star, sometimes without. It has been in the Galaxy for a long time. From the beginning. From before time. From before the galaxy was born. Mostly in the deep core, where it is not easily accessible. And that is for the best. It is not advisable to leave you on there any longer than is necessary, and when you leave, it will be the last time the Jedi have any dealings with it. The file will be sealed again, and the planet left to its devices.'

Now they were frozen claws, slowly running down the skin of her back. She had known in some way. To hear it confirmed opened the veil on the appalling age, the long, low pulse and respiration of the bleak land under its enormous, forbidding skies.

'Master –I don't believe all here can be evil.'

'An option in this matter you do not have, young one.'

'Jarl Salkeld –you said you think he is a friend. And the old woman we stayed with. Brigid of course.'

'I've no doubt the Jarl is your friend. And the old lady you lodged with.' Windu had never taken his eyes off hers, weighing, judging.

'Brigid too.'

Shaak Ti carefully laid the reader down on the arm of her chair. 'Cara –I would be rather wary.'

'Master, she's done nothing but help me since I met her.'

'Then where is she now?'


	4. Chapter 4

_A slightly longer update this time -hope that makes up for the shorter one last time!_

4

Somewhere, in the back of her head and yet simultaneously a thousand miles away, she heard a sound like laughter. Then she put it aside. 'No.'

'Cara?' Windu's voice was as neutral as ever.

'No. Not Brigid master.' Of that she was sure. She had asked the question of herself, and dismissed it. Just as she had done the previous evening. Brigid was warm. Kind. And warmth came from within. It was not something that could simply be faked.

'In your judgement we trust, young one. But danger you are in.'

'I know, master. What should I do with my friends?'

'The girl and this Jarl? Stay they should?' The emphasis was slight, but it was there. Yoda never did anything without reason. And perhaps, even now, ever the teacher, he was trying to make her learn something.

'If I'm in danger they will be too.'

'Certain that is.' Yoda was leaning forward, resting on his gnarled old stick.

'Then I can't leave them here.'

'You are there for observation only Cara. The inhabitants are living in a pre-industrial age. Our rules forbid taking those from such a society off-world.' Shaak Ti's voice was as mild as ever; almost meditative.

'If those rules say we should abandon friends to die then we need some better ones.'

'Quite so, Cara. I think in such cases a certain amount of discretion should be used. We will leave the decision to them, and yourself.' The miniature projection of the elegant master looked at her reader briefly, then regarded her carefully, across the light-years. Transport has been dispatched; it will arrive shortly after local sundown. In the meantime, I think we would all advise that you keep moving, and place as much distance between yourselves and the castle at Midalnburh as possible. What is happening there is evidently troubling, but there is nothing further you can do at present. Open the link again at 1730 local time; the transport will home on that and meet you in the closest accessible area. And your friends, if they so wish.'

'Thank you, masters.' She killed the connection, slipped the projector into the bag, and carefully forced her way out through the gorse. Crouching in the natural cave below one, the ground cold underfoot, she saw Brigid. The girl was in the shadow of a rock a few yards away, observing the way they had come with some care. Cara's slight movement caught her eye; she shook her head, and Cara came out from under the gorse and, keeping low, moved over to her. 'Anything?'

Brigid hesitated slightly, then shook her head. 'I don't think so. It all looks and sounds normal.'

'But something's coming.' She saw the agreement in her friend's eyes, reached out a hand and when Brigid grasped it, pulled her upright. 'Time for us to leave. We'll have to be fast. We don't want to be caught up here, on the moors.'

'I'd rather not be caught at all.'

'Touché.'

'Then perhaps we could run a while?'

'Couldn't you have found me something more practical?' She glanced down at the dress as they cleared a low rise and began the long descent to the valley below. In reality the dress was still perfectly easy for her to move in, but she wanted to keep the slightly barbed humour going for a few moments longer.

A glance was thrown her way, then the girl serenely concentrated on the path in front. 'You're a lady. You're supposed to like dresses.'

'I do like them. It's lovely. If I was on Coruscant and singing for a charity event, or posing for a photo-shoot. And I'm not a lady.'

'You'd make a terrible man, my lady.'

'Given how useless they can be, that's some comfort I suppose.' The bracken grew thick here –two or three different varieties, some of which were obviously dormant, others, probably most, evergreen. Heather provided a few sparse flashes of additional colour, offsetting the rough grey of the boulders, the olive hues of the ferns and the rich brown of the peat underfoot, which was at least pleasantly springy to jog on.

A dry stone wall blocked their path, but a rough series of three wooden steps climbed over it at one point a few yards away. They cleared it without difficulty and plunged down the shallower gradient toward a narrow plateau –obviously the point Brigid had mentioned earlier, where they could branch off to the right, skirting the edges of the hills. She was relieved to see there was reasonable cover –the tall fir trees stretched away in an expanding band as far to the north as she could see. The fog in the valley floor was marching slowly up the lower part of the slope below. 'So you don't have anyone special waiting for you then my lady?' Brigid paused for a moment to re-tie her hair, which had broken free of the thin brown ribbon she had used to bind it back out of the way.

Cara looked down at the fog below. The bottom of the valley was entirely covered in the opaque blanket. Somehow, she had a feeling its rise toward them was accelerating. 'No. We don't have those kind of relationships Brigid. You?' She gestured that the girl should lead the way. Brigid paused for a moment before shaking her head in answer to the question, and without further comment turned and started them along the track that skirted the trees. After a few seconds she jumped up to the top of the bank in a place where one of the stones that lined their route had slipped down, heading at a slight angle into the trees. After a hundred feet or so, she changed direction, so they were once again moving parallel with the track, amongst the thinner belt of trees that give them a little more cover. It was a sensible decision –the more so because the mist was now lapping at the edge of the road, and the impression had been growing in her mind that it was not a friendly piece of weather.

They both increased their pace without discussing the matter. They had covered perhaps a mile of the two Brigid had mentioned. Cara glanced at the ground, getting a closer feel for its grip levels, undulations, the way the tree roots thrust through the peat just below the surface in a tangled web of rivalry, how the thicker pieces would sometimes break the ground, ready to catch an unwary foot. She let herself sense the texture of the old brown needles and occasional dry leaf of a deciduous shrub, and how their complex drifts, beautiful in their apparently abstract wanderings could provide a subtle challenge to the unwary. How the scent of each tree varied, as did their slow, endless conversations of tiny creaks. The texture of the bark and moss on the trunks, the fallen branches. The warmth and pungent aroma of the fungi, solid masses, tougher than they looked at first glance, clinging to the wood, dead and living.

The mist was thicker now, the light diffuse, and they had a half-mile to go, according to Brigid's estimate. They would now be well within the boundaries of Salkeld's estate. Her eyes were alight, her pulse comfortably up but stable, her limbs relaxed, the running largely now an unconscious action while her mind opened to become one with the immediate surroundings, a part of the living tapestry that surrounded them. Her body fractionally increased its pace to pass her friend, and she knew she was smiling as she ripped the long knife free, bringing the sharpened upper edge up in a short vertical cut that sliced the throat before her open, the severed arteries sending a jet of viscous black blood far into the woods, a wildly released falchion flying into the air to land yards behind. The calm was on her, as it always was when she fought; the world seemed to slow, while only she moved quickly. And it was easy. So very easy. She shifted her weight sideways, letting her right foot plough a few inches through the ground, checking her forward momentum and spinning her in that direction, while sending a shower of dead pine-needles straight into the face of another of the creatures she had seen the day before, forcing it to flinch away. Her right hand and wrist snapped in a precise diagonal slash that took the eyes of a third and she let the momentum carry her around, dropping low and letting a minor flick of force-energy accelerate her, bringing the knife up in a single precise stab that went under the second's jaw, through the pine needles, throat, mouth and up into the brain. A short front kick threw the massive, empty shell of organic matter off the blade and she sidestepped a swing of the blinded third's falchion, holding out the knife to catch it on the inner elbow, opening veins and muscle, sending the massive cleaver spinning into a tree trunk. Another stab, this time straight through the throat, and the ravaged face, with jelly streaming from the severed eyeballs, froze. A moment. Just a moment in time –then she pulled the blade back, and the dead creature dropped.

She could feel Brigid staring at her. The dark blood dripping from the ends of her blonde hair. Her left knee bent, she dropped low, the knife held carefully out, the grip delicate, precise. Something was moving through the trees, a large shape, four-legged, dark. It took a pace forward, partly shielded by a large bush, and stopped. Their eyes met. Ten seconds. Twenty? Another pace forward. She did not move, holding her place. Another ten seconds. She let her foot move forward, a slow motion, but threatening. Then a new bank of mist rolled in. When the tendrils cleared, it was gone.

'My lady?' Brigid's voice was barely a whisper. She felt the girl's hand touch her shoulder. 'Cara?'

She was back. She had questioned herself for a little while, but even that had now passed. 'It's all right Brigid.' Reaching back, she pressed the hand and straightened up. Glancing briefly at the three dead creatures, she stooped again, briefly, to wipe the blood from her knife on the tunic of one of the dead bodies, tossed it a couple of inches in the air and caught it in a reverse grip. It was a grip she normally loathed; there was nothing artistic about it, although it did take skill, and for a short-bladed weapon it had some advantages –she had not been happy about the amount of effort needed to slice through the hide of whatever these creatures were. The extra purchase would solve that, and the threat was still there. This had been a first test, no more.

Looking around, she saw the girl's face, blanched of almost all colour, but otherwise calm enough. 'How far?'

'A thousand yards. When we clear the trees, the wall will be to the right.'

She nodded, and they began to move again. The menace was still there, but wary now, keeping a certain distance. It would be back. Cara quickened the pace again, ducking around the thinning belt of firs and thick patches of shrubs. A couple of thick planks provided a stable footing over a shallow depression where the ground clearly remained waterlogged, and they were clear, a wall, perhaps twenty feet high stretching off to their right. It looked old, with large patches covered in ivy and creepers that were turning in the late autumn chill, a flush of burgundy against the granite. She checked the time. Too early. There was a clear run alongside the wall, a wide track of compacted gravel for perhaps a hundred and fifty yards. To the left, the ground dropped away, grass, fairly well cropped, presumably by the woolly animals that seemed so popular here. There was no sign of movement and the line of sight was clear. Brigid now re-took the lead, quickly covering the distance to the end of the wall, where it turned right ninety degrees. And there was their goal. It was obviously a castle of sorts; not a large one, more a heavily built dwelling than a base for troops or a place of refuge for a wider population, but still solid, crenellated, four-square, probably around a central courtyard. A central flight of steps led ten feet up to a huge wooden door, beside which two torches burned in iron brackets, making the mist swirl in the convection currents. The wall was soot-blackened behind them. The left hand side of the door itself stood open, and a flicker was coming from within –another torch?

Brigid took a pace forward, then paused, staring at the flickering torches, listening to their soft roar, audible even from fifty feet away. Another flicker of light from inside, and again the mist swirled, forced back by the heated air, the tendrils of damp refracting the light in an orange glow. 'Cara?'

She felt the corner of the granite wall behind her; the voice of the ancient stone and its –amusement? Life and time were such fragile, fleeting things. But matter –again she felt the appalling age of the planet, its slowly pulsing cycles, ages upon ages, sometimes tolerating, but never supporting the little pinpricks that occasionally dared to move on and through its surfaces. And now they were in the boundaries –the borderland of another era. 'Brigid –back. Now. We should never have come here.'

Another surge, perhaps of heat, perhaps of something else. The torches had a redder glow now, settling to a lower glare. And then they were both running, no jog this time but close to a sprint, back along the gravel track. Brigid did not turn at the end of the wall but continued, keeping well to the right, as far from the belt of trees on the other side as she could manage. Two hundred more yards and they reached the gates, large, iron, open. This outer wall was lower than the inner, perhaps only a dozen feet tall, and there was the track they had originally taken before branching out into the trees. Darting out through the gates, both felt better, although twilight was descending.

Nothing. Cara glanced back the way they had come and rejected it outright. There was a feel of genuine evil in the trees and mist, and further back now too, on the barren moor. Ahead a narrow path plunged between dense undergrowth and down to the fog-shrouded floor of the valley below. And to the right, and the north? She felt herself moving in that direction –drawn? She couldn't tell, but even if the danger had come from the north, that way seemed less obviously threatening. Time was running away; she needed to open the satellite link so the transport had something to home in on, and for that, she needed to find somewhere they could shelter in. And it would probably be needed. She could sense it; it would be a hot evacuation and if they didn't have to cut their way out, she would be very surprised.

They stayed off the track, preferring the other side of the hedges and dry stone walls lining the way –there was something about that hateful road that felt distinctly unhealthy. The sun was setting, and twilight was rising. The fog was still there, thicker with each passing minute. Ahead, a shape loomed –two. Three. Black. Houses. A village. There was no sound.

She stopped. Brigid didn't need any further warning. It was wrong. As wrong as the castle had been. A cautious dozen paces back, and she saw what she had been looking for –a low hedge, running off to the left. It would be enough; there was a shallow ditch behind it. Slipping down behind the dense wall of leaves, they moved carefully along their sheltered route, finally finding another patch of the inevitable gorse. It was rapidly becoming her favourite plant. They were relatively young, without sufficient spread to shelter under, but enough to provide some shelter. Pulling the com-link free, she punched in the frequency and identification codes. There was no sign of a video link; all that indicated receipt of her transmission was a generic confirmation message. All they could do now was wait.

'My lady?' Cara looked up, saw where Brigid was staring. An orange glow had appeared where the village lay, a quarter-mile away. Another torch. Several. She flexed her fingers on the haft of the knife, tightening her grip. Figures now, black, floating in and out of view as the fog slowly undulated, waves of opacity. Human –heading in their direction. Then another swirl of mist obscured them –all but the dull glow of the torches.

She felt Brigid's fingers press her arm. But she already knew. Looking over her shoulder she saw a narrow lane, perhaps fifty yards away –it had been hidden by the fog when they had ducked into the partial cover. Where it led, she couldn't tell, but most likely the moors. It vanished behind a low scree-face and visibility was too bad to see more. More important was what was in the mouth of the track. Another figure, dark, blending with the fogbanks, mounted on a great horse. How long had he been there? She saw him look hard in the direction of the village, and beckon them urgently. A quick glance showed that the other figures were still hidden, though the glow of the torches was getting nearer by the second. Brigid needed no other comment but was already running, pulling her along with her.

From behind she heard a rapid sequence of soft, drumming steps; paws rather than feet. The number seemed to reduce quickly and she felt rather than heard the bounds lengthening, driving through the fog. She pushed Brigid forward and drove off her left leg, swinging around, instinctively catching the contoured alloy cylinder he threw with her free hand and flicking the activation button with her forefinger. The familiar snarl drowned out the final launch of the black form that sprang for her throat. She ducked sideways, the knife, still in the reverse-grip slashing hard. She felt it bite, heard the shrieking roar and flicked the lightsaber up in a short thrust at a second shape, taking it through the chest. The phosphorescence around its dripping jaws seemed to surge, but it was already dead. The first was up, a forward leg mangled from her cut, but still coming hard, but she was in her element once more. A light cut with the lightsaber, forcing it to change its attack, and she finished it, the knife swinging in a rear hand slash to rip its throat open, the heavy body collapsing near the other.

Silence, but for the menacing growl of the lightsaber. She looked up sharply at a call from behind. The flaring torches were closer, converging. Enough. She snapped the lightsaber off, turned and ran. He was still there, astride his horse. Brigid was already in the saddle of another –the same she had ridden the previous day. Neither wasted any time speaking; as soon as she had swung into the saddle behind the other girl, they were moving, the heavy horses cantering rapidly along the narrow trackway. There was something reassuring about these large creatures and their huge strength.

Surging through a stream at the bottom of a shallow incline, they turned off the track and slowed to a brisk trot as for an hour they wound their way between the boulder-strewn hills. Brigid was carrying the com-link; hopefully they would be able to find a suitable spot for the transport to collect them –it had to be nearby. Neither of her companions had spoken, and she had been glad enough of the time to think. Eventually he slowed, turning his horse onto what looked to be a faint path through the heather, and lead the way over a saddle in the hills, and up into a small but sheltered plateau –barely thirty feet wide and a hundred long, but it would be sufficient. She looked at the lightsaber she was still holding. An ordinary enough cylindrical design, slim enough to be easy to manipulate, with low profile controls and some careful attention to the grip, with alternating bands of textured rubber to provide a comfortable fit for the palm and fingers. The balance was exceptional. She looked to the left, to where he was sitting on his horse, gazing out over the dark lands, the contours etched by a bright moon and equally bright stars. The ferns were short here, barely reaching the knees of the heavy horses. He didn't seem concerned about any possible pursuit –she had noticed that, just as she and Brigid had that morning, when they had turned off the main path, he had been careful to do so on stony ground, and to choose another that remained that way for some distance. They hadn't gone at full-gallop either; he had paced it a little more slowly, but with more precision, and the route had been winding.

She held the weapon out to him. 'Should I ask now?'

He accepted the lightsaber, clipping it to his belt, behind the right hip. 'You mean, "am I a Jedi"?'

'You're not.'

He shook his head. 'My mother was.'

She closed her eyes, thinking back to Master Windu's words earlier in the day. 'She came here twenty years ago.' He flicked a glance in her direction –confirmation of a kind. 'What happened –she decided to stay?'

'More or less. She made my father happy until he was killed in a cattle raid. Axe took him in the shoulder. Nasty. She died a few months later; some form of fever. I was nine. She taught me a little of her background; your language. The Jedi of course.'

'And?'

'That's the only answer I have for you, Miss McInnes. It's not much, but the best I can do. I take it you're being taken off-world?'

'You know I am.'

'True.'

'You and Brigid –you can't stay.'

'I know that too. You'll look after Miss Brigid?' He had turned slightly in his saddle, his gaze sweeping the land before them, the moonlit slopes, the bracken etched in grey against the blacker moorland.

'After you both.'

He leaned forward, lightly patting his horse's neck. The bridle, saddle and other gear were plain leather –no trappings of status, as a Jarl would be expected to have. 'You know I can't leave.'

'Yes. But you have to anyway.'

'There are people I have to kill, my lady.'

My lady. She spoke as gently as she could. 'Your queen is dead. Most of her council. Most of the people in her castle. Maybe most of the people in Midalnburh.' She knew. She had known since she had fled the castle with Brigid, but had pretended, to herself as much as anything, that it was otherwise. The old woman was gone too. So many deaths. And so the cycle went on, endless. Little wars. Little clashes. And when that couldn't satisfy, something else that rose?

'I loved her. She had her faults, like I do, God knows. But I still loved her. And the others –they need someone to do something for their memory. As much as she does.'

'She cared for you too. And she wouldn't want you to throw your life away. Nor would the others. And it would be. This isn't a fight you can win. If you want any of it to mean something –it doesn't. It's just your world.'

'You think it's evil.'

'You know it is. Oh, not entirely. It's not like it makes decisions one way or the other. It's not conscious. You just have to accept that's the way it is. And it will always win. Perhaps your mother thought she could help change things. She was wrong.'

'It's all I know.'

'Look at the raiders. Tell me you know what those are. Or those other –dogs? Or what had happened to those villagers –the way they were walking wasn't –natural. You know that too?' She pressed her knee against her horse, moving it closer to his. Touched his hand. Brought assertiveness into her voice. 'Harald. Your mother is gone. Your queen is gone. Your people are gone. Now you belong to me. You and Brigid are coming.'

He studied her eyes for a moment. 'You're not giving me a choice are you.'

'There never was a choice.'

'And me?' Brigid glanced at both of them, smiling for the first time since the early afternoon.

'Not for you either.'

'What of the horses?' Brigid leaned forward to scratch their mount affectionately between the ears.

'We'll manage.'

'Good.' Salkeld glanced back out over the lands he had known, then down at the sword still hanging at his side. Half-drew it, then stopped as her fingers touched the back of his hand.

'No. You made it, didn't you. So it's a part of you, not this place.'

He let the sword slide back into the plain, cloth-wrapped scabbard, and allowed her to take his hand as they slid down from their saddles to stand amidst the ferns. Brigid lightly jumped down, and curled up on the ground beside them, leaning against Cara's leg. She watched the grey landscape; the black bulk of the moorland and hills; the distant roll of a fogbank, heading away from where they were perched, on the narrow plateau. The soft breath of the horses. The gleam of the bright moon directly above; another, more distant, low on the horizon. The carpet of stars. They had lost, but that had been inevitable –even ordained. Her friends would struggle, but would eventually honour those they had known by making the best of their new lives. She squeezed his hand tighter, locking their fingers together. Listened to the soft breeze in the bracken, the rustle of the dry fronds; the call of some nocturnal bird, hunting for its meal. And above, a glimmering star seemed to fall, growing, as the transport descended to take them far away, and leave this deceptive land to its haunted wanderings –a mote of dust in the Galaxy; a part of its story, and perhaps a part of its future. But not of theirs.


	5. Chapter 5

_5_

The planet hung below them; a granite, grey-green sphere. One of its two current moons was just visible on the horizon as they floated three-hundred miles above the surface. Too high to make out any detail. Too high to see the region they had come from, really. Too high. And not high enough.

The communications satellite had been retrieved and stowed. The addition of two heavy-horses had come as a surprise to the hired Captain, but he had accepted them with good grace on promise of an escalator to his contracted fee. A couple of additional human passengers, by contrast, was less of an issue, even though the ship was a small one.

Cara drew her gaze briefly from the planet below to check the time again. Navigating through the Deep Core, with its densely packed star formations and systems, black-holes and constantly shifting hyperspace lanes, was difficult at best, and it had taken almost three hours to plot a route they could travel effectively. The final set of coordinates was now being simulated, before they could jump to light speed and leave this accursed world behind. She looked back. The moon was gone, and they were in the latest dusk period as they orbited. Smoke was rising from one region –she knew it was the one they had left. It was spreading.

Brigid had been fascinated by the ship and even more by the view out of the ports. She was asleep now in a spare bunk, her russet hair a soft cascade across the pillow, her breathing calm. She had stirred briefly, smiled at Cara's affectionate wave when she had looked in, and drifted back off almost immediately. Accepting things would not, she decided, ever be a problem for her friend. She was a rarity. The rules that forbade taking those from less-technologically advanced societies were sensible, and entirely practical. The change was too great, too profound. There was too much that was new, too much to learn. The simplest electrical appliance could seem like magic. There were sometimes exceptions, and Brigid, fortunately was one. As for Salkeld –he had said nothing, but remained by one of the observation windows, staring down at the place that had been his home. He had accepted it, maybe even had known, deep down, that destiny would take him away. Like Brigid, his Basic was perfect: fluent, idiomatic and completely relaxed. Unlike the girl though, he also clearly knew a reasonable amount about the wider galaxy already. How he had managed that feat she had not yet asked; at a guess, his mother may have brought holocron records with her. Still, it would not be easy for him to adjust.

A soft chime over the intercom system warned them that they were preparing for the jump to light speed. She took a last look at the planet. Then she turned her back and walked away. A second later she felt the slight surge, could sense the view of the stars elongating as the ship jumped to light speed, entering the small hyperspace lane for the run back to the Inner Core. She paused by the small room that had been her master's on the way out. She could still feel the older woman's warmth. She had been a good master, conscientious, generous to a fault and genuinely wise. Loving too, to her surrogate daughter who shared many of her ideals though was rather more forthright in her manner. Cara had long ago accepted that she could be blunt, but hoped she was never unfeeling. Transcending such things was all very well, and perhaps a few like Master Yoda could manage it, but it was not a goal she aspired to. On the whole, she thought she did reasonably. She was admired by many, and outside the Order, when singing for a charity event or simply for the joy of forging a connection with an audience, she knew she had a common touch, loving the after-performance period when she could meet those attending.

She was tired, but it would be some time before her mind settled. Back in her own room, she glanced down at the dress, now largely stained with peat and blood. It was too far gone to save, but she would try to get another made. It suited her. After sponging herself down and washing more blood out of her hair, she pulled on simple black leggings and a green tunic that fell to mid-thigh, briefly dabbed some lavender oil on her wrists and temples, then slipped back out and walked the dozen paces to the small lounge area, quietly singing a piece from her home-world. It was a song that meant a lot to her, both personally and in a more abstract sense. Her birth planet, which she had visited once, had its troubles. Not on the scale of the planet her friends had come from, but there were some similarities. They were over now –and hopefully for good. But it was important to remember. A sad song, and therefore also a true one.

He was sitting in a viewing alcove, staring into nothingness. His nose was bleeding, or had been –he was automatically mopping the final drips with a piece of linen, stained rusty by the drying blood. There was no gesture, not even a flicker of an eyelid, but she knew he was listening. She deliberately lost herself in the words as she made two mugs of cocoa, and as her voice trailed softly away in the final notes, crossed to sit alongside him.

How he would handle what had happened was a question she had been asking herself since their departure. How does a person cope with genocide –let alone in such a disturbing way? With the loss of everything they had known? With survivor's guilt? The bleeding had stopped, and he took the cocoa she offered. After a brief sip he leaned back against the rear of the bench with a slightly rueful expression. 'It makes me angry. In a way. Ironic, given the lyrics.'

'There's anger, and there's anger. I'd worry if you didn't grieve. It's natural.'

'I don't think that's what your song is saying. I seem to remember something about your Order frowning on it too.'

'No. But I've never claimed to be perfect either. And it will pass, because it has to. You know the ones who plotted against your people were a symptom. They weren't the cause.'

His gaze fixed on hers, as if looking for something –what, she didn't yet know. Whatever it was, he seemed satisfied. Even smiled slightly, although there was a hint of self-deprecation in the gesture. 'How did you get to be so wise my lady?'

'I'm not. It's just the truth. You think I didn't know? There were at least two in the Council. It's easy to be wise after the event, but I didn't like them. Whatever they wanted though, they won't get it. If they're not already dead, they will be soon enough. You know that –better than I do. Perhaps you could have killed them yourself, but you would have died just to kill men who were already on borrowed time. Your responsibility is to your living friends. Not to the dead.'

He thought about it for a moment, then accepted her point. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

'Reminding me of the obligations of being human.'

'You don't need me for that.' She lightly touched her finger to his. 'I'm sorry for what happened. If I could have stopped it, I would. So would you. Or Brigid. Or any other decent person. I wish I could have done more –that the Order could have done. As it was –I brought away everything I could that was worth saving.' She looked away briefly, gathering her own thoughts. 'I don't think many will have known what was coming. They won't have suffered.'

'The villagers?'

She thought back to the silhouettes she had seen; to the uncoordinated, almost shambling but relentless movement. Let her fingers tighten around his. 'I don't know. I hope not. Whatever they were, whoever they had been before –that were gone before you arrived. And it was happening elsewhere too. I don't think that happened at the castle though. I don't know if it helps –but she must have been dead by midnight. It had to have been quick.'

It was strange –in a way, this was the first time she had really been able to see him. The previous afternoon he had been shadowed, his features partly concealed by the hood of his cloak and some form of camouflage makeup –not much, but enough. And of course, until they had boarded the transport, it had been dark.

He was pale. That was what she first saw. Similar to herself in fact, although there were fine lines about the corners of his eyes, the smudges beneath now exhaustion rather than greasepaint. There was a small bruise just behind his right cheekbone; a little dried blood of course. The chocolate-brown hair was thick, with a natural wave and moderately long, cropped above his shoulders. He was obviously fit; extremely so, although even the fittest eventually tired. Properly cleaned up and rested, he might even be thought attractive, in his own way. He wouldn't be the first choice of a model agency, but that was fine with her. Before she went to bed she would try to find some clothes for him –his trousers, shirt, doublet were stained, even more than her dress had been.

'She was a cousin. Second, or something like. Through my father of course. I grew up with her. Played with her. Had lessons with her. Our tutor whipped us both if one of us didn't pay enough attention in class, or made game of him. Or if we missed a session. He didn't discriminate. That tends to make you care for someone, if you didn't already.'

'Your tutor whipped you? Both of you? Even if only one of you had done something wrong?' The idea of whipping children was bad enough, but to flog both of them when only one had stepped out of line seemed barbaric.

'Of course he did. Bloody. In my case anyway –he had to be a bit more careful with her of course. I don't think it did much good, other than making him feel better. He loved us both. We certainly loved him.' The tired flicker of humour was a positive sign. He must have been an interesting boy –serious mostly, obviously intelligent, probably questioning, but still with some sense of fun that occasionally broke free, as it should in all children. She shook her head while she did her best to process his words. It was wrong to impose views on societies at different stages of development, although flogging children was difficult to accept. Especially when the child, now a young man, seemed to bear no malice at all –even seemed amused by it. For the briefest moment she saw him wince as he lifted the mug, the fine lines about his eyes tightening. Then it was gone.

'Missed a session? Where were you?'

'Oh, the blacksmith's. He said I should learn something useful. And she was friendly with his daughters. They liked to play battledore together. She was good at it, she'd win more times than not, even playing both of them.'

A part of him, she knew, would always be there, amongst the moors and beneath the skies of the place that had been his home. He would be haunted by it for the rest of his life. But he also knew perfectly well that his world had been corrupt. The people there had been good, mostly, like people throughout the galaxy. Ordinary. It was the planet that was bad, riddled by dark energy. An evil place, terrifyingly old, though its majesty, at least in its current form, disguised its real nature. The further she got from it, the happier she would be. 'Were there any others?'

'Children in our classes? No. Just us. My father's lands weren't the largest, but he controlled a useful part of the coast; a good natural harbour so it was important in its way. Taxes could be collected, ships built and repaired. We had lime deposits that were valuable too.'

'You were expected to marry?' She dropped the question as casually as possible. It was only one possibility, but she hoped his answer would give her a better insight.

'I don't know. Our parents probably discussed it, but if there had been any arrangements it would have died with my mother and father. Nobody tried to split us up though –most major families shared tutors, and somebody had to teach us. That ended when we were thirteen. She inherited the crown, and of course I needed to learn how to fight. I'd already had a decent grounding in the basics –everyone does. But it gets more serious at that age doesn't it? She made sure I was trained by someone who could beat some sense into me, and she gave me the inland estate too –it's customary for a ruler to grant small favours when they come to the throne. It wasn't really much use. A wood; some moorland. A couple of rough pastures that the people in the village were free to use. No real income to speak of. We both liked it.'

She sat quietly for several minutes, thinking about what he had said. And for his part, he seemed content enough in her company, not feeling the need to keep speaking. Presumably exhaustion helped. It made sense, and was certainly in line with what her master had told her. Arranged marriages and relationships built upon political and military necessity. If all had gone as planned, his job would have been to intimidate or eliminate any threat to her position. And of course to give her an heir. In the same vein, he needed support to consolidate his family's position and defend his estates from rivals. Romantic love wouldn't have even merited a second's consideration for their parents –practicality was all. She smiled slightly to herself. As it happened, they had loved each other, albeit they had needed to pretend otherwise after the death of his parents. He had been more successful than her on that front. They had both also been powerful force-sensitives. Not overt –but it counted for a lot. The people knew about it, knew that some could wield it, and that their world was steeped in it. And his mother had been a Jedi.

All told, it was a mess. But she was glad he and Brigid were here anyway. At least that was one positive that she could take away and set against the sadness of losing her master, and at seeing a world help destroy its own inhabitants in an orgy of blood. 'You need to sleep. How long have you been up?'

'I don't know. Eighty hours? Ninety? Something like that.' He gave her a slightly ironical look. 'I suppose I'll have to face the nightmares some time.' Then his eyes changed again –it was like watching a breeze ruffle the heather on the moorlands of the place they had so recently been. 'I'm sorry. You lost your –mother, I suppose you could call her? That's as hard to deal with in its way. Harder.'

'It's a little like that. I think it is for all of us. Did your own mother ever talk of it?'

'Sometimes. She had a lot to teach me, but she ran out of time. I know she cared for her master though. And for some of the other masters who helped her. I imagine it's the same for you?' Seeing her nod, he sighed quietly. 'I wish I'd known her better. That was her lightsaber I threw to you. I haven't made one –I couldn't get the parts, even if I knew how to.' He took a final swallow of the cocoa and set the mug on the floor. Again she saw the fine lines at the corners of his eyes contract; perhaps the merest flicker of a wince. He didn't appear to be wounded though, and was moving freely, so she let it pass. Bruising would probably cause it, and he had been busy. Her master's body was safe in the hold, respectfully wrapped in her cloak and some linen sheets. His explanation had been short, though not unfriendly. She had been half-minded to order the pilots to take them to where her master had died until he had lifted the older woman's mortal remains gently from the bracken. She didn't want to know what he and his horses must have been through to return to that damned valley. If the raiders and what had been the villagers were anything to judge by, he had seen hell. Despite which he had understood her intentions, and done his best to help.

'Give me a minute. My lord.' She hoped her use of his title, perhaps the last time he would ever hear it, would convey both her thanks and respect. It did. She avoided looking at him for a moment, as she stood and moved to a low chest built into the wall, but she knew the compliment had gone home. Raising the lid, she pulled out some blankets. They were old, frayed, but clean and warm. The chest also contained a medpac. Digging through it she found a bottle of codeine tablets; they weren't ideal sedatives, but they would help, and if he was nursing some kind of injury they should reduce the pain until the Healers could see them both. That would almost certainly be their first port of call on arriving back at the Temple, even before any formal report. Shaking two of the tablets out, she carried them over to him, waited until, under the fire of her eyes, he swallowed them, then draped the blankets carefully over him.

He managed a tired smile. 'You're very persuasive my lady.'

'I try.' She let the short burst of authority in her eyes dissolve. 'If you need me, I'm only a few feet away.' She let her fingers ghost over his shoulder, then let him be.

It was strange, she thought, how quickly life could change. What would happen in the next few days? She wasn't sure. She hoped her new friends would find or make a place for themselves. They deserved it. But then, so did everyone. Good, bad, or just ordinary. He was still awake, even though an hour had elapsed since he had taken the tablets. She could feel it. The codeine had helped a little but his mind was still working. Not especially active –just there. Drained. And he was in pain. It was diffuse, and he had either hidden it or simply suppressed it while they had talked, but now he was alone again, it was back. At least there wasn't any sign of major trauma; hopefully some rest, even if he didn't sleep, would help. As for her own future, it would be different. Whatever changes would occur though would partly be in her hands. That was enough to be going on with.


End file.
